Fool's Gold
by avalanches
Summary: Inter-world travel wasn't supposed to be common, but somehow, Eponine Lesauvage had encountered it. And so, miles from her home, Eponine Lesauvage is stuck in what was called Middle Earth, with the new knowledge that Middle Earth is where she hailed from at the beginning of her life. THORIN/OC
1. Prologue

Welcome to my new Hobbit story! If you'd like, you can follow my tumblr _**fleetwoodmcs**_ to learn more about Fool's Gold and the character of Eponine. Hope you guys enjoy!

* * *

Eponine hated stories that started with "Once upon a time."

When she was younger and on the rare occasion that Work of Orphans Des Douanes had books for her to read, she loved the stories that started with those four words. It let her know that she was about to be immersed in a world that was unlike her own. As an orphan with no family to speak of, the idea of a world like that was more than appealing. But as time went on and the children around her left, adopted by loving families that would take care of them and hold them close at night, the words lost their meaning. It didn't matter that funding for the orphanage had dwindled, meaning they could no longer afford new books for the children remaining to read. Eponine wouldn't have touched them anyway.

On a cold night in December in the year 1983, a toddler had been deposited at the doorstep of the Paris orphanage. Wrapped in nothing but a blanket patterned with wildflowers, the owner of the orphanage had taken her inside and given her food. The girl did not speak. She clutched the blanket in her hands, even when the owner asked what her name was and offered her clothing. She simply stared ahead, eyes wide and scared, like something was coming to get her. And when she had woken up the next morning after falling asleep in a warm bed the owner had offered her, she remembered nothing of a past life. She didn't even remember her own name.

And so the orphanage gave her a story.

Eponine remembered flashes of that night when she tried to remember. Her brain usually pounded against her skull if she pressed too hard for details, but the gist of the events were prominent. She remembered a pretty woman named Beatrice grabbing her hand and calling the young child her "little wildflower." She remembered clutching the blanket she had arrived in at night whenever she wondered about where her real family was. She remembered when Beatrice had asked if she'd like to be called Eponine, a character in a book that Beatrice loved.

She remembered meeting Darren.

Eighteen years old, with a backpack hanging on her shoulders and a hug from Beatrice that seemed to knock all the air out of her lungs, Eponine made her way into the real world. A world that had been cold and cruel and had spit her out after chewing what was left of childlike innocence. She had been travelling through Paris, making her way south towards Orleans, taking odd jobs here and there to make just enough money to move to the next city.

Darren had come into the coffee shop she was working at, looking nothing short of perfect as he ordered a cup of black coffee. He gave her too much money. When she refused to take it, he simply dropped it in the tip jar and gave her a sneaky smile that had her heart quickening in her chest when he turned to find a table. Living in an orphanage for the entirety of her life had left her clueless as to what the opposite sex was like, but there was something intriguing about the mysterious man who took his coffee with a smile when she dropped it off at his table minutes later.

He returned to the cafe six times before he asked if she'd like to hang out with him when she was off work.

His name was Darren, he said on a warm summer night in June, when Eponine was wrapped in a bright red shawl that kept falling down her shoulder. He had pushed it up twice already, his fingers skimming the skin of her shoulder and making Eponine blush. He was twenty-one. The three years weren't much of an age difference, but to her it felt like an ocean of information and knowledge. How smart he must be, she remembered thinking to herself, when he talked about his travels. He told her about crossing the oceans and laughed when her eyes went wide in pure, unadulterated amazement.

And when he lifted a hand to push a piece of hair behind her ear when he dropped her off at home, Eponine thought, for the first time in her life, she knew what love felt like.

They spent the next three months travelling together. She sent letters to Beatrice, explaining her adventures and how beautiful Spain was. Beatrice had never been to Spain, and Eponine raised up all the money she had to sent her a beautiful embroidered dress a man had been selling in a market. Darren said that Spain was his favorite country when he saw how much Eponine smiled there. Maybe they could stay here, he had told her, when the fall leaves scattered on the streets and Eponine traded in her red shawl for sweaters.

Eponine had never wanted anything more.

Three months turned to six, and six turned to nine. They were somewhere in Germany now, only visiting because Darren wanted her to see the world, but their hearts were in Spain. He told her he loved her there, that he would always be there to protect her. She turned nineteen and he turned twenty-two and though they were young, they were so certain. Beatrice wrote about the smiles Eponine's letters brought to her face and made Eponine promise that one day she would introduce her to Darren, the man who had so wholly stolen her "little wildflower's heart."

He had laughed when he had read it. _Fleur sauvage_, he whispered to her one night, the French word for wildflower sounding like the most beautiful music to her ears. But flowers were delicate and Eponine was no delicate thing. She was strong and brave and bold. _Lesauvage_, he had decided. The wild side of her that he had fallen in love with that night in Spain.

And so, Eponine Lesauvage she became. She'd never felt more like herself, more like who she was supposed to be.

One year gave way to two. Eponine was twenty now, but already felt the wisdom of Darren had made her that much older. They were back in Spain, in a little cottage Eponine had cried about when Darren said he had bought it for them. She wore her red shawl in the summer months and wore bright gold jewelry in the winter. He kissed her head when he came home each night, and she held him close in the night.

Eponine started to believe in the words "once upon a time" again. Her story's tides had turned, giving way into something beautiful.

Three years came with a hurricane of emotions. Darren had gripped her tightly enough to bruise her when the news of Beatrice came. The old woman had gone in the night. He whispered in her ear that Beatrice hadn't been in pain, but Eponine still made him hold her tighter as she sunk to the ground and cried. And he held her each night after that, her tears soaking through his shirt but never making him pull away.

She turned twenty-one weeks later. Twenty-one and she already had suffered so much loss. She mourned for the family she'd never met, wondered if they'd gone like Beatrice or abandoned her. But Darren would never abandon her, he promised. He wouldn't go anywhere without her ever again.

Until that cold night in December.

It was like magic, the way in which the whole room seemed to shake. Darren was plucked from reality like a guitar string, there one moment and suddenly gone the next. Eponine screamed into the air, tears running down her cheeks. She called his name, called to whatever god was out there. She'd be a better person, she promised. All the gods had to do was bring Darren back. Bring him back to her.

Everything went black.

Once upon a time, a young woman named Eponine Lesauvage woke up in a world that was not her own.


	2. Chapter One

It was often that Eponine was roused from sleep by nightmares.

The first time she had been writhing in her sleep, and Darren had been there to shake her awake. It was her first night in this new world, this place Darren called Middle Earth. She had followed him through time and worlds, brought only by her own will. He had held her close when she appeared next to him, landing with a smacking sound on the dirt ground and sobbing because she didn't know where she was. The tears that came soon after were the tears of a woman that had been lied to when Darren explained everything. He was from Middle Earth, this place surrounded by trees and greenery, and was sent to her world to bring her back. She had been born among these people, the same people that stared at her in confusion when a giant man they called Mithrandir draped a cloak around her shoulders and suggested they should speak somewhere privately.

Her name was Esseorra, daughter of Essel and Milraen. The names sounded foreign and wrong on her tongue. She didn't like to be called Esseorra, the name she was so unfamiliar with. She hadn't earned that name like she'd earned Eponine Lesauvage. Mithrandir didn't call her Esseorra again.

He was kind, the old wizard. He went by many names, but the Rangers called him by another name. Gandalf, they said when he passed by, and tipped their heads at him in respect. When she sat by the fire and listened to him explain her past, he paused to see if she had any questions.

She never asked.

That had been six years ago now, she remembered as she woke from another nightmare, her eyes flying open and her fist automatically wrapping around the hilt of her sword. She slashed the air around her, knowing that no one in her Ranger company dared wake her anymore after an incident in which she had sliced the cheek of a Ranger coming to check on her. Six years in this place called Middle Earth, where she wasn't sure she belonged. Some days, when she was training with the other Rangers that thought of her as their princess, she felt like she might belong. But then there were others, like tonight as she clutched her sword, that she longed for that cottage back in Spain and the arms of a man that had long been gone.

Time moved slowly here. Gandalf had explained that she aged differently here than she had in her own world. Here, she was a Dúnedain, a warrior with three times the lifespan of a normal human from her world. She still made marks in whatever sticks she could find to know her true age. In her world, she would be close to thirty. Here, Gandalf mentioned that she was only twenty-two, still a child in the eyes of the people of her world. There were eighty-year-old men here who looked like they could be only forty.

She never asked how old Gandalf was.

Once her heart rate had calmed, she threw her sword to the ground and sighed, assuming sleep was no more for the night. She opened the flap of her crude tent and looked at the sunrise, nodding to the Ranger that was keeping watch. Her companions were used to seeing her at odd times of the day, knowing that she was plagued with nightmares from both her past world and the world she lived in now. Usually when she woke from her dreams, she would go to the mock training ground and practice her weapons training. Usually Pios would train with her until they were both blue in the face, but he was scouting lands ahead to make sure the Orcs weren't a problem. Her plan was to train with the bow and arrow since they didn't require anyone to spar with, but when she saw the shadowy figure sitting near the training grounds, she figured she wouldn't be getting much done that day.

"You haven't changed much," she mentioned casually as she approached the figure. She could see his face now, the ghost of a smile on it as he inhaled from his pipe. "In my world, those are terrible for your health."

"We aren't in your world." The unspoken truth hung between them. _That was never your world. You are from Middle Earth_. It seemed that truth hung over her head more often than not.

"I'm sure the health risks are the same," she mentioned, making herself comfortable next to him. With their position, they were free to watch the sunrise. It would be a calm, serene portrait, had she not known the man she sat with. "What are you doing here, Gandalf?"

He was silent for a few moments, chewing thoughtfully on the end of his pipe. She was used to his long and prolonged silences, but that didn't mean she grew to love them. Whenever Gandalf was silent, it meant his mind was moving in a thousand different directions. She knew of another man whose brain worked in the same way, though she hadn't had the pleasure of experiencing that in five years. The sting she felt was slowly ebbing, but it still struck her as she thought of him.

"Do you wish to return to your world?" he asked finally.

"Yes," she answered without hesitation. In theory, her world was so much more painful than Middle Earth. Nothing was more peaceful than watching the sunrise with a friend and not having to worry about what the day would bring. But it also made her weep at night when she thought of Beatrice, of the red shawl, and of the first time she had ever heard the words "_I love you_." "I don't know," she corrected, shrugging her shoulders. "I've met more family here than I ever imagined I could have. But I've never felt more alone."

Ah, her family. There was the hesitation. Though her parents and uncle had been murdered by Orcs long before she'd ever stepped foot in Middle Earth, there was someone whose face lit up every time he saw her. When they were together, he reached for her and clung to her like his life depended on it. It was nice to feel needed again.

"Aragorn would miss you greatly, were you to return."

Just his name brought a smile to her lips. Her crazy, wild, adventurous cousin. He was ten, a young boy who wanted to prove how daring and brave he could be. He was the thing that reminded her most of her world, and he was the thing she would miss the most if she were to return. She didn't see him often, but whenever she did, she felt lighter. She talked with her aunt about their family, about the mother Eponine never got to know. But even facts and knowledge about her birth parents didn't come close to comparing with the joy she felt whenever she saw Aragorn.

"And I would miss him," she responded. "I would miss seeing the king he will eventually become."

"You wouldn't mourn for your status as princess?"

Another thing she couldn't get used to. Since Aragorn and his mother were in Rivendell and had little to do with the Rangers until Aragorn grew of age to become king, the Rangers had turned to Arathorn's niece, the only remaining family member of the King. Many Rangers had taken to calling her their princess, a title she didn't want. She groaned and Gandalf let out a small laugh at her exasperation.

"No, I wouldn't mourn." She looked at the old wizard, a wry smile gracing her lips. "And you remain the master of avoidance. What are you doing here?" she repeated, blinking against the smoke he sent her way with another puff to his pipe.

"Pios tells me of your excellence in weapons training. He says you're the only one who can best him, and I've never known Pios to lose a fight."

"He exaggerates," Eponine said, shrugging. Though it was true, she wasn't the best warrior to ever exist. She had been thrown into Middle Earth with a bang, and she had fought to keep up, working her way up until she knew how to operate most of the weapons the Rangers used to fight. With no other family or distractions around her, it was easy to focus on becoming one of the best fighters in the group of Rangers that were left.

"He most certainly does. But not about this, I think," Gandalf mentioned cryptically. "I was going to ask Pios, but I think a descendant of Arathorn would be better suited for the task."

"Good thing I'm not technically a descendant of Arathorn. I'm a descendant of his sister-in-law," Eponine mocked.

"The technicalities don't matter." Gandalf waved his hand as if he was waving said technicalities out of the air. "I need your help."

"You'll have to be more specific, I'm afraid."

"There is a group of dwarves forming to reclaim the Lonely Mountain."

Eponine tried to remember which story had accompanied that of the Lonely Mountain. Growing up in a different world, she had to learn the history of Middle Earth when she had come six years prior. She squinted, as if it would bring the memory more quickly. "The Lonely Mountain. Smaug?"

"Good memory."

"Not particularly. I don't remember much else."

"Smaug the Terrible claimed the Lonely Mountain and drove the dwarves to the Blue Mountains. They've been there since. Thorin, son of Thráin, son of Thrór, the rightful King Under the Mountain wishes to reclaim The Lonely Mountain for the dwarves."

"It's still weird you say that," she mentioned offhandedly. The first time Gandalf had called her Esseorra, daughter of Essel, son of Essor, Eponine's head had spun. "Just say he's Thrór's grandson."

"In Middle Earth, that is considered odd," Gandalf corrected.

"What do these dwarves have to do with you needing my help?" She redirected back to the original topic at hand.

Gandalf took another puff. Eponine wanted to rip it out of his hand and stomp on it. "These dwarves are a stubborn sort. The dwarves that have agreed to come are miners, not fighters. I think it would be beneficial to have you in their ranks, should it come to battle."

"Do you expect it to come to a fight?"

Gandalf's eyes squinted, just slightly. "Azog the Defiler is after Thorin. Thorin believes him to be dead. My hope, of course, is that Azog does not discover the plan to reclaim the Mountain, but we need to be prepared for the worst outcome."

In her six years in Middle Earth, Eponine had only seen battle twice. The first battle, she had cried to days afterwards because battle wasn't something she was accustomed to. Those nights, she had desperately longed for Paris, to fall asleep with the lights of the Eiffel Tower shining through her window. The second battle, she had been more prepared but still cried herself to sleep at night.

The crying still sometimes came from a deep part of her heart.

"Gandalf, I don't want to fight another battle," Eponine whispered. The sun had finally peaked over the trees, continuing its ascent into the sky and turning the misty gray into a baby blue. "I wasn't built for this."

"I think you were built for anything, Princess of the Dúnedain."

It was the title she hated, but the one that had been given to her. In her world, she was no one special. She was the girl brought to an orphanage with no name, no family, and no story to be told. Here, people cared about her and her wellbeing. And though she didn't want to rule over anyone, being their princess was better than being that unnamed child dropped at the orphanage.

"I'll think about it," Eponine conceded, "but only if you don't call me Princess. I get enough of that from these people."

He grinned, a twinkle in his eye that she had come to both despise and admire. "I look forward to it, Eponine Lesauvage. Should you decide to come on this journey, we will meet in the Shire at Bag End in a month's time."

* * *

Bag End, which had a door that Eponine knew she would have to duck to get through, wasn't dirty or grimy, like she expected a hole in the ground to be. Instead, she saw the lights from the small windows and the pretty green door with Gandalf's mark and was reminded of her own cottage back in Spain. Her own home had a door painted the same red as the shawl she loved, and had windows lining all four sides. She remembered wanting to find a home with lots of windows, she had told Beatrice when she was a young girl. _I want to see the sun rise and set_, Eponine reasoned while she and Beatrice ate their meals together.

She missed that cottage with her whole heart.

Gently moving her hand to her dagger at her belt, she knocked on Bag End's door. It looked even smaller up close, and even though Eponine wasn't exceptionally tall for a Ranger (who towered over her), she was already lamenting the way she'd have to duck her head. She was five feet and five inches, something perfectly average in her world but odd amongst the different races she'd met in Middle Earth.

She could hear laughter and merriment from inside the house, and when the door swung open, she caught a glimpse of a dwarf transporting food to the dining room from what Eponine assumed was Mr. Baggins's food pantry. Mr. Baggins, who was at the moment giving her an adorable glare. A glare that immediately dropped when he realized there was a woman standing behind his door.

"Oh," he stuttered out in surprise. "I'm sorry, Miss. I thought you were…" he trailed off, confused on how to explain his situation to the mysterious woman standing outside of his house.

"A dwarf," she supplied, giving him a small smile.

"Well, yes," he acquiesced. "There are at least ten of them in my home and I simply cannot fathom why they're here."

"I have a guess," Eponine mentioned dryly, but took her hand off her dagger. Though she couldn't say the same for the dwarves, Bilbo Baggins was harmless. "May I come in, Mr. Baggins?"

"Of course, of course!" He hastily stepped to the side to allow her entry. As expected, she had to duck quite a bit to step through his door, but was pleasantly surprised she could stand at her full height and still have several feet until her head would hit the ceiling. "I'm sorry for being rude. These dwarves were simply unexpected. Can I offer you anything?"

"No, thank you, Mr. Baggins. I'll help myself to some food later."

"If there's any left," he said under his breath, and Eponine smiled again.

"Yes, dwarves have quite the appetite."

It was then that he seemed to notice the mud on her clothes and shoes. "Oh, dear me. Would you like to freshen up in the bathroom? I'm afraid I don't have any heated water, but if you give me about ten minutes, I could have a hot bath drawn for you."

So appreciative of the kindness of the hobbit, Eponine gave him one of her rare genuine smiles. "I would appreciate that very much, Mr. Baggins."

"I'll lead the way, Miss… I just realized I've forgotten to ask your name. Pardon me."

"Eponine Lesauvage."

"Right. Miss Eponine." If he thought her name peculiar, he didn't mention it. "I'll start heating the water, but until it's finished, feel free to use whatever in the bathroom you'd like. I'd much rather you use my stuff than those dwarves."

When Bilbo drew a bath, turned on the small furnace underneath it, and closed the door behind him, she assessed herself in his mirror. She had to bend down a little to see her whole body, but she didn't mind. The bathroom, like the main foyer of the house, was surprisingly tall. Until the bath was drawn, there wasn't much she could do about the mud on her clothes, but she grabbed a washcloth and dipped it into the still cold bath water, scrubbing at her arms and face until her skin was raw and red.

Her long hair, tied up in her ponytail, came tumbling down when she pulled out her rubber band. An invention from her world that she was grateful to have, especially when fighting. She had an extra on her wrist in case the one in her hair ever gave way, but it had proved to be steadfast in the past six years she had been in Middle Earth. Her dark hair had traces of mud caked within the strands, and she was thankful when the ten minutes were up and she stripped her clothes. The first thing she attacked with vigor was her hair, watching the bath water turn brown with all the dirt and grime that clung to it. Then, she scrubbed the rest of her body with the same washcloth and fancy soaps Mr. Baggins had laid out for her.

And then, she simply leaned back against the tub, and stared.

She didn't know why she had agreed to this silly mission of Gandalf's. She wasn't under any illusions that she was a great leader, but the Rangers depended on her. And she definitely wasn't a warrior. She was just Eponine, the little girl from the orphanage who fell in love with a boy too strongly and too quickly. Nevermind the fact that the dwarves probably didn't even _want_ her on their quest.

But he would have encouraged it.

And like all decisions she made lately, he was in her mind when she had woken up three mornings before and started her trek to Bag End.

Eponine stepped out of the tub and back into her Ranger garb, feeling ten times better after her bath. She pulled her dripping hair into a bun on the top of her head and shoved her feet back in her shoes. She didn't know the layout of Bag End by any means, but it wasn't hard to follow the sounds of carnivorous eating and loud, obnoxious laughter coming from the dining room.

It was a magnificent scene she stepped into. There were dwarves falling over the table in their haste to get food, kicking and hitting any other dwarf who got in their way. There were dwarves of all shapes and sizes, one incredibly fat and robust and another small and meek, his voice overshadowed by his companions. And then there was Mr. Baggins, staring at them all like he wasn't sure what to do with himself. In the middle of all the chaos was a familiar face, searching around the room until his eyes landed on her and he grinned.

"My dear friend! I see you were able to come after all!"

All speaking ceased. Thirteen pairs of eyes (including Mr. Baggins) turned to the sudden dripping wet Ranger standing in between the food pantry and the dining room. It was so silent, Eponine was sure she could hear the heartbeats of all twelve dwarves and the hobbit. She simply crossed her arms over her chest and nodded.

"I told you I would think about it," she mentioned, moving so she was standing closer to Gandalf. For the first time since stepping foot in the hobbit house, she felt small.

"But thinking isn't concrete. I'm glad to see you decided to join us." He then turned to the twelve dwarves who were still staring. Eponine thought it was pretty impressive that she was able to stop twelve dwarves mid-meal. It was practically unheard of for dwarves to stop eating, for any reason, once they started. "I'm pleased to introduce Lady Eponine Lesauvage. She'll be joining us for dinner."

Eponine raised an eyebrow at his omitted "_and on the quest_," but when he gave her a twinkling look, she decided not to spoil whatever it was Gandalf had planned. She said nothing to the dwarves, simply moving towards the table and picking up a plate, filling it with significantly less food than her companions but enough to fill her stomach. When she picked at a sausage, she raised a brow at the dwarves still sitting. "Is anyone going to tell me where they got the ale?"

About half of the dwarves laughed, the most raucous coming from two younger dwarves at the other end of the table. "Oh, you'll fit in just fine Lady Eponine!" the one with the darker hair and an unusual lack of facial hair commented. "Fili, get her an ale!"

Fili, his blonde companion, grabbed a tankard of ale and sent it down the row of dwarves until the one closest to her was offering it up. She took it gratefully and downed a couple of sips before moving to sit in the seat closest to Gandalf's. It was only when her back hit the seat that the commotion started up once again, albeit a little calmer now that there was an outsider amongst them. Eponine took this time to survey her companions between bites to eat and sips of ale.

Fili, the only one whose name she knew, was sitting next to that dark haired dwarf. On the other side of Fili was what Eponine assumed was the youngest of the group, with a sweet smile. He was the one who had looked meek earlier, Eponine remembered. Next to him was a redheaded dwarf who looked like he was the size of about four Eponine's put together. He reminded Eponine of Santa Claus, funnily enough.

Then there was the dwarf with the shaved head, and next to him a dwarf with a full white beard and equally white hair on the top of his head. Her eyes scanned over the dwarf with the axe in his head (how she'd love to hear the story about that), and the dwarf who was wearing a silly hat that would have made Eponine smile if she wasn't concerned about keeping up her cool facade. There were two dwarves sitting next to each other, one accepting a small bit of wine from the other. And then there were four remaining dwarves, all speaking loudly over one another and accepting more ale with boisterous laughter.

"Lady Eponine!" The one next to Fili called. She raised her eyes to meet his. God, he looked so young. She had no doubt that they were older than she could imagine, but he looked like he hadn't truly seen anything evil yet. She hoped he wouldn't have to. "Don't think we didn't notice that Ranger garb!"

"Rude to comment on a woman's clothes when you haven't even introduced yourself," Eponine mentioned offhandedly, taking another sip of ale. Several of the dwarves laughed and the dwarf she was speaking to blushed in a way that reminded her of a little kid.

"That's Kili, lassie, and next to him is Fili," the one in the funny hat said. "I'm Bofur, those are my kin Bombur and Bifur." The redheaded Santa Claus and the one with the axe embedded in his head. "Then Gloin and Oin." Another redhead and the dwarf with a trumpet pressed to his ear. "Dori, Nori, Ori." The one with the wine, the one drinking the wine with vigor, and the meek one. "And finally, Dwalin and Balin." The one with the shaved head and the one with the long white beard.

"Right," Eponine muttered, her head trying to wrap around all the names. In her world, her name was considered long and hard to remember. She'd like to see the people of France try and remember any of these dwarves' names. "Anyway, yes, Kili, I'm a Ranger."

"I don't trust Rangers. Dirty, the whole lot of them," Dwalin barked rudely.

Eponine shrugged. "Doesn't phase me. I'm enjoying a nice meal either way."

He scowled at that, even though his brother Balin let out a short laugh. "Lady Eponine is the most trustworthy person I know, Dwalin," Gandalf said as he returned to his place at the table. It was high praise, high enough to have Dwalin giving her one last glare before seemingly leaving her alone.

"We've never met a Ranger before," Kili mentioned from the end of the table.

_What a poor first impression then_, she thought to herself. Rangers were supposed to be strong and invincible. She still cried when she had to kill anything. "I've never met a dwarf before."

"You're joking, lassie!" Bofur exclaimed.

"Eponine is special," Gandalf mentioned to the group. "She was born in Middle Earth, but was sent to another world at only two years old and had lived there until six years ago. She probably hasn't seen a lot of the races of Middle Earth."

Got that out of the way quickly, Eponine supposed.

"You were born in another world?" Ori asked excitedly, giving her a cute smile. "Could you tell us about it?"

"Yeah, tell us!"

"Come on, lassie!"

"Um," Eponine stuttered, blinking against the voices overlapping in their excitement to hear about things from her other world.

"I'm sure Eponine will tell us all about this other world once she's gotten more of a meal in her belly," Gandalf said, winking at her. As exasperated as she usually was with the old wizard, she was happy to see that he at least had read her mind about not wanting to discuss her world. She sent him a grateful look as she continued to nibble at her meal.

Truth was, she wouldn't even know where to begin when discussing her world. Until her eighteenth year of life, when she left the orphanage, she hadn't seen much of it. And there was only so much she had packed into the three years out of the orphanage before she had been transported to Middle Earth. There was also the fact that all of her memories included him and she didn't want to think about him. It would hurt too much, like it always did.

He would have loved these dwarves, she mused, looking across the table at them once more as they laughed and drank. He would have fit right in, making friends with them. It wasn't the first time Eponine wished she could be more like him, and she doubted it would be the last, but this one hit her the hardest. So hard, in fact, that the dwarf on her other side (Dori, if she remembered correctly), gave her a nudge.

"You alright, Lady Eponine?"

He had a kind face, she thought to herself. There were four braids plaited into his hair, two on either side of his face by his ears, and two on the crown of his head. His beard wasn't long, but it was thick and impressive. She gave him a nod. "I'm fine, Dori. Just remembering."

He clicked his tongue at her. "Doesn't do well to dwell in the past."

Eponine gave him a wry smile. "My past is very different to your past."

"Can't argue with you there. Are you done with your plate?"

Eponine looked down. Half of the food was untouched, but she wasn't hungry anymore. She knew she should finish the whole thing because the food on the quest was going to be scarce, but she couldn't bring herself to. "Yes, thanks Dori."

He looked at her plate, gesturing to his brother. "Ori, go see what Mr. Baggins wants us to do with the plates."

Ori, happy to have a task, jumped at the opportunity and went to follow Bilbo into the other room. Eponine pushed her silverware away from her, but the dwarves weren't following suit. Instead, they were hitting the utensils against the table, creating a sound that wasn't entirely unpleasant. It was nothing Eponine was used to, but she found herself tapping her foot along to the melody they created.

"A-and can you not do that?" Bilbo suddenly shouted, coming into the kitchen. Eponine looked up at him, his face adorably red in his anger and annoyance. "You'll blunt them!"

"Oh, do you hear that lads? He says we'll blunt the knives," Bofur mocked teasingly. Eponine heard the stomping of the dwarves' boots on Bilbo's floor, making just another aspect of sound to accompany their melody. Eponine didn't see what dwarf started singing, but suddenly the entire room around her was encapsulated in song.

Plates flew over her head, bowls and knives soared through the air. Eponine ducked out of the way as a fork went flying in her direction, only to be caught by Bifur, who was standing at the sink. Bilbo was running around, trying to catch various forms of kitchenware, but the dwarves didn't pay him any attention.

It reminded Eponine of an orchestra. It was a loud, cacophony of sounds, but there was an organization to the chaos. Kili would throw something to Bifur, who would scrub it clean at Bilbo's sink. Some dwarves would hand their plates to Bombur, who would essentially lick them clean so Bifur didn't have to wash crumbs off the plates. Even Dwalin, who was the one Eponine would expect to not join in on the festivities, knocked his head against a wayward plate Kili accidentally sent his way, sending it flying in Bifur's direction. Eponine's own plate was picked up by a smirking Fili, who sent her a wink before tossing it in Bifur's direction.

Their song ended with a rousing chorus of "_That's what Bilbo Baggins hates_!" Only, when Bilbo rushed into the kitchen, expecting to see a mess, the plates and bowls were cleaned and stacked. The table, which the dwarves had completely destroyed, was spotless. Even Eponine was impressed.

And then there was a loud, chilling knock at the door.

The dwarves were silent immediately, and Eponine felt the shift of the mood. The dwarves stared at the direction of Bilbo's door, where the sound had come from.

"He is here," Gandalf said, probably sounding ominous to the hobbit.

Eponine didn't need to ask who was at the door. She had been wondering where the leader of their quest had been, sure that he would have wanted to arrive with his companions. So, she ignored when Bilbo gave an outraged "_who is here?_" and stared at the door as Gandalf pulled it open.

There stood Thorin Oakenshield.


End file.
